


Daddy's Boy

by lellabeth



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint Needs a Hug, Daddy Kink, Insecure Phil, Kinda, M/M, Online Relationship, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-03-29 15:58:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3902191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lellabeth/pseuds/lellabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was meant to be a one-time thing. Phil had stumbled across the ‘Daddy’s Boy’ tumblr one night after trawling through his usual tracked tags. The profile picture had been of a thick, built body, heavy with corded muscle and sinew, and Phil hadn’t been able to resist clicking onto the blog behind it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> from a tumblr post: ‘whoops that was supposed to be on anon’ AU

 

It was meant to be a one-time thing. Phil had stumbled across the ‘Daddy’s Boy’ tumblr one night after trawling through his usual tracked tags. The profile picture had been of a thick, built body, heavy with corded muscle and sinew, and Phil hadn’t been able to resist clicking onto the blog behind it.

He hadn’t been disappointed - the blog had a ‘pictures for Daddy’ tag that Phil had spent half the night going through. He’d lost count of how long he’d spent looking through them all, dick in hand and breathing quick. It was the most beautiful dichotomy, this contrast between the earnest hope of a boy looking for a Daddy in the body of a fully-fledged man. There were glimpses of bitten-plump lips, snatches of ridged abs leading to a valley between sharp hipbones, just a peek of the hard, wet head of a cock. 

They’d all had Phil aching with the need to come, but only one picture had him fisting his hand tight and jerking himself roughly. A low-quality photo at an odd angle but the pure submission of the pose still sung true. Kneeling forward, back arched and ass out, presenting Phil with the sweetest little hole he’d ever seen.

He wanted to trace it with his tongue, tease with his teeth. He wanted to make this boy wet and loose for him so he could sink deep inside. He wanted to claim and care for and call his own.

So he’d sent an ask, telling the boy just that. He’d described everything in painstaking detail, his vivid imagination painting pictures of their bodies writhing in his mind. He hadn’t expected to receive a response, hadn’t wanted anything more than to let this beautiful boy know that someone wanted him.

He clicked back to the blog a few days later, outright surprised to see a post asking for the ‘hottest anon ever’ to please come back, and yeah, Phil could definitely keep coming for this boy.

Phil sent another message that night and another the night after, and now they were two months down the line and Phil was sure he was in far too deep. The boy - Clint - had taken to posting updates on his day and tagging them with ‘for Daddy’. Phil read each one and sometimes responded to things he found extra-special, and he felt sun-warmed and glowing all over just imagining having a boy like Clint to call his own. Clint took pictures and captioned them with things meant just for Phil, made text posts about how he wished he’d meet his kind, caring, gorgeous Daddy soon because he was so lonely, and some part of Phil ached because he  _knew_  lonely. Clint had all but begged Phil to come off anon, but Phil wasn’t stupid enough to think someone like Clint could want him, not really. He was good with words when he had long minutes to compose them and press backspace on the ones that showed too much. He wasn’t so good in real time or real life. What he and Clint had wasn’t really anything at all, but he felt sure it was more than they’d have if Phil revealed himself.

And then one night, it all fell apart. Phil was so tired he could barely see straight as he replied to a message of Clint’s. He’d finally gotten an account a while back so he could favorite some of Clint’s posts and pictures, and he was fastidious about checking the ‘ask anonymously’ box every time. 

Except this one.

He realized right as he hit send, and he spent the next few minutes paralyzed by fear that Clint would somehow see through his TheSuit username and default blog theme straight to the old, boring man underneath. 

It wasn’t long before he heard back. There was a gaping pit in his stomach as he saw a message icon appear on his dashboard, and he clicked it with something close to dread working over him.

 _Daddy!!!! FINALLY! I’ve been hoping for this for so long! Does this mean we can talk for real now? I finally won you over with my charm? ;)_ it read, and Phil smiled, because his boy could be so cute. It took a few seconds for Phil to notice that he had called Clint his, and he let the perfect fit of it sink in. 

He thought of a post Clint had made that day about wishing he had Daddy’s arms wrapping him up tight, and the pang of desire almost left him breathless. More than anything, he wanted that. He wanted Clint and dirty pictures and lewd messages and long, quiet cuddles.

He wanted everything.

 _Hi, beautiful_ , he typed back.  _I’m sorry it took me so long. Call me?_

It took him three tries to type his phone number correctly, his fingers were shaking so badly, but he did it. 

Barely five minutes after he sent the message, his phone began to buzz on the desk next to him. He licked his lips and swallowed hard, reaching out to pick it up and answer the call.

“Hello?”

A click, like the fleshy catch of breath hitching in someone’s throat, and then a sigh that ended in a whimper. “Daddy.”

Phil eyes were wet with relief and excitement and liquid joy, and he closed them so he could focus everything he had on the most important phone call of his life.

“Hi, baby boy.”


	2. Chapter 2

That first night, they speak until their voices are scratchy and they’re exchanging more yawns than words.

“Don’t wanna sleep,” Clint mumbles, the grit of it making gooseflesh rise on Phil’s skin.

“You need some rest, sweetheart.” He isn’t usually one for terms of endearment, but there’s something about the image of Clint, curled into a ball and trying to be small while he talks to his Daddy, to  _Phil_ , that brings them out in him.

A moment of silence, then a hitched breath. “I’m scared.”

Phil’s heart squeezes. “Scared of what, honey?”

“That you won’t call again. That this will just be a one-off thing and you’ll decide you don’t want me and that I’m not good enough to be yours.”

There’s no doubt in Phil’s mind that Clint’s insecurity stems from Phil refusing to interact with him on a deeper level than anon messages before now. There’s a connection between them, but it’s tenuous. Phil just hadn’t realized until now that Clint wanted something more permanent.

“I can’t imagine a boy better than you,” Phil tells him, whispered but honest. “Nothing would make me prouder than to call you my own.”

“I want that,” Clint replies immediately, and Phil can hear the desperation in his tone. It makes him want to be strong.

“I think we’d have to meet in person first.”

He and Clint are both in New York City - Phil for a corporate lawyer job too good to pass up despite the long hours, Clint studying culinary arts at a school in Brooklyn. Clint has posted a few pictures of places Phil vaguely recognizes, ones of flowers just starting to bloom with captions like “wishing my Daddy was here for me to pick some to give to him”, or of a steaming coffee with a familiar logo on the side.

“You’d want that?”

Phil thinks of the months he’s spent imagining how Clint would feel in his arms, love-soft and unbearably sweet. “I can’t think of anything I want more.”

“Daddy…” Clint whines.

For all that Clint is brazen online, he is almost shy over the phone - he gets an embarrassed tone to his voice whenever Phil compliments him. Phil wonders if he blushes, too, and that thought prompts what he says next. “This Friday?”

“I… for real?”

“If you want it too, baby.”

“I want you so much. I’ll meet you wherever. Just text me, okay? Tomorrow or whenever you figure out reservations or something.”

“I promise,” Phil says, and his heart is glowing warm when Clint doesn’t stop to question him after that.

They say goodnight quietly, both knowing this is a beginning rather than the end. “Dream of me,” Phil says just before he hangs up.

“I always do.”

Phil sleeps better than he has in years.


	3. Chapter 3

Phil dresses with more care than usual the night he’s arranged to meet Clint. He chooses a sky-blue sweater before dismissing it because it’s too tight on his tummy. His favorite slacks seem to cling to the dimples of skin either side of his hips. His glasses make his nose look big and his contacts make his eyes seem small. His teeth look dull from all the coffee he mainlines, and his navy blazer makes his shoulders look disproportionately broad.

He palms his phone in one hand, running a finger over the screen. All it would take is one text and he’d be able to call this whole thing off. Who is he kidding, really? He isn’t a prize for anyone, let alone a beautiful boy like Clint. He catches sight of his ever-thinning hair and grimaces. Most days he ignores the stab of dislike when he does his cursory glance in the mirror, but today it’s making his chest burn. 

He isn’t enough.

His phone buzzes in his hand and he blinks back blurry wetness to read the incoming text.

_Can’t wait to FINALLY see you!!!_

Phil swallows so hard his throat clicks. He straightens his spine and takes a deep breath, two.

 _I can’t wait either_ , he replies, then he turns off the bathroom light without looking back.

He arrives outside the restaurant early. It’s the type of place that requires a jacket and doesn’t allow denim - he had been worried when he chose it that Clint might have to go and buy something suitable to wear, but Clint had reassured him that he could borrow something from a friend.

He’s so nervous that his hands are shaking. He knows Clint’s face better than he knows his own, but Clint has never seen Phil before. Phil didn’t offer to send a picture and Clint didn’t ask. Phil hopes that means he’ll at least be open-minded before he writes Phil off for being too old, too boring, too much and yet nothing at all.

When he sees the familiar lines of a strong, broad body striding down the street toward him, he almost turns tail then and there.

Clint is  _beautiful._

He barely has time to catalog the sharp edge off Clint’s jaw or the messy waves of his hair before wide blue eyes flick to his. He watches Clint look him up and down, taking in every inch of his body, and it’s all he can do to suppress the hunch tugging at his shoulder blades. Clint stares for long seconds, never shifting even as he walks through the crowd. Then he ducks his head and Phil is fucking terrified he’s just been dismissed before he spots the faint dust of pink on Clint’s cheeks.

He barely has time to process that before Clint is standing before him. He can see the jitters running down his boy’s arm, watches his toe tap against the concrete as he blurts “Please tell me you’re Phil,” kind of breathlessly.

Phil can recognize hope when he sees it, even shrouded in the gray-blue of Clint’s eyes, and he doesn’t even think before he’s moving his palm to touch Clint’s hand. It’s trembling even worse than his own. He knows coming here must have taken Clint more faith than anyone has ever shown for Phil before.

It’s that thought that makes him lean forward and hug his arms around Clint’s body. 

There’s a moment of awkwardness, where Phil is just holding on to Clint’s slightly shaking form, but then Clint’s arms are wrapping around him so tight he can barely breathe.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says, because he needs Clint to know that and never ever doubt it.

Clint makes a noise like a whimper as he shoves his face deep against Phil’s neck. “ _Daddy._ ”

Phil forgets to be insecure. He forgets about worrying or any panic. All he knows is Clint, pressed so close that Phil isn’t sure where he ends and Clint begins.

All he knows is pressure and warmth and burning points of contact, and that everything inside him is glowing so bright he doesn’t think it’ll ever fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there will probably be more of this at some point. If you have a specific prompt/scene you'd like to see, feel free to comment with it here or message me on tumblr.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks heaps to twangcat for looking this over! it's shameless fluff.

Clint refuses to let go of Phil for long minutes. He breathes in clean soap and spicy cologne and comfort, and he lets all of it sink deep into his skin. He feels warm all over, Phil’s hand leaving a line of heat where it brushes gently down his spine.

“It feels so good to finally have you in my arms,” Phil whispers, hesitant and earnest.

Clint bites the inside of his cheek and blinks back the tears that push at his eyelids. He’s so desperate for this to go well, to prove to Phil that he can be a good boy, a boy sweet enough to keep. “You have no idea.”

Phil kisses his temple and just that slight rasp of dry lips feels like a spark to kindling. When he pulls back, Phil’s eyes are blue and unbearably kind. Clint can’t remember the last time he felt so safe, knowing Phil is here to take care of everything for a while.

Maybe he stares a little too long or too intensely, because Phil’s small smile gradually begins to fall. “You aren’t too disappointed with what you see, I hope?”

It’s openly vulnerable and so is Phil’s expression, teeth digging hard enough into his bottom lip to turn the flesh stark white. Clint can admit that he tried to tamp down his expectations before coming here tonight - he knew Phil was incredibly important and special to him, but he didn’t know what to expect looks-wise. He’d hoped for certain things, of course, and looking at the lean, built lines of Phil’s body and the soft set of his face, Clint feels like he’s in a dream.

“Not disappointed at all. You’re beautiful,” he says, because Phil _is_ , and because of so much more than just how he looks.

Phil’s shoulders drop slightly, tension seeping out of his frame. Clint can’t resist the urge to press a kiss to the slight stubble of Phil’s cheek, needing to soothe the person who’s come to mean everything to him.

Phil’s exhale is shuddery, and he squeezes Clint’s hand hard. “Shall we head into dinner?”

They talk all through it. Clint feels shy and small but Phil is just so safe, and it coaxes him into talking about his history degree and his love of archery for so long that dessert is being brought out by the time he stops. He’s embarrassed and unsure, wondering if Phil thinks he’s the rudest person alive for dominating the entire conversation, but Phil just smiles when Clint blurts that out.

“I love to hear about you,” Phil tells him quietly, the sincerity behind it knocking down the last of the walls Clint has around his heart. “You’re so… vibrant, Clint, so special. You make me feel so excited about things for you, because of you. I couldn’t ever get tired of you.”

Clint reaches across to thread their fingers together across the tabletop, heart pounding when Phil lets him without hesitation. Clint knows he’s not the best-looking or the most elegant guy around, but Phil doesn’t even think before accepting. It’s like Phil thinks Clint is someone to be happy about being with, like he’s worth being proud of, and everything inside him is so full. They split their chocolate cake with their fingers still tangled, Clint blushing as Phil feeds him bites from the spoon.

The wine is hitting his bloodstream and making him feel flushed. The candles between them make the air hazy. Phil keeps saying ‘good boy’ whenever Clint takes a bite, and it’s all so intoxicating, it’s all such a rush, and Clint _wants_ so badly. He wants to climb under the table and suck Phil’s cock down his throat right here. He wants Phil’s big hand to creep over into his lap, curl around the curve of him.

Phil wipes a smudge of chocolate frosting from the corner of Clint’s mouth and brings it to his lips. Clint laps at Phil’s thumb greedily, even after all the sweet cream is gone. Phil must see the desperation on Clint’s face because he signals for the check immediately. Phil pulls his hand back slightly, just enough for Clint to kiss the tip of Phil’s fingers.

“I’ve waited so long for you.”

Phil says the words but Clint is living them, living this perfect moment he never thought he could deserve. He sits quietly as Phil pays the bill, not even attempting to reach for his wallet. Phil had written a message to him once detailing a scene exactly like this, where Clint orders expensive things and doesn’t even question that Phil will pay for them. He wasn’t sure at first whether he’d feel like he was taking advantage, but the proud set of Phil’s shoulders tells him that being able to provide things Clint wants, even as simple as a fancy dinner, is important to Phil.

It’s strange in a way, to know Phil so well and to not really know him at all. He doesn’t know Phil’s tics and tells, not yet, but he knows that Phil has the biggest heart and filthiest fucking mind of anyone he’s ever met, and that’s enough for him. He feels a little drunk from the wine and something he isn’t willing to name yet. It grows as Phil leads him to the hostess stand with one hand spanning the small of his back, as Phil holds out Clint’s battered leather jacket for him to slip his arms inside, as Phil turns down his collar and kisses the nape of his neck softly.

They walk back to Phil’s car in silence, arms swinging between their bodies. Clint can see the smile wide across Phil’s face in his peripheral vision and it fuels his own. He’s wanted this for months and now he finally has it, and he doesn’t ever want to let it go.

“This is probably the best night of my life, just so you know.”

Phil just tugs his arm to bring him closer and kiss him square on the mouth, and it’s kind of wet and clumsy and they’re both still smiling, and it’s electric and everything either of them has ever wanted.

When they reach Phil’s car, Phil stops by the passenger side and does an awkward shuffle. He stares at Clint then at the car door and back to Clint again before he takes a deep breath. He pulls the door open and tilts his head. “Would you like to come home with me, Clint?”

Clint climbs in without even having to think about it. Phil will lead, and Clint will follow him anywhere.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *innocent face*

When they get back to Phil’s little house, they settle down on his sofa with beers. Clint is flushed and staring down at his lap as he thumbs the label of his bottle.

Phil can’t look away.

There’s something about Clint that brings out Phil’s protective instincts. He’s brave on the outside but so unsure of himself, so uncertain of where he stands at any time, and Phil wants more than anything to be a safe place. Clint is made of hard edges and Phil wants to soften each one, to wear away at them all until nothing but his good, sweet boy is left.

In the dim light, Clint’s skin is smooth, peppered with dark stubble. Phil reaches to touch it, lets the rasp of it catch along his fingertips.

Clint turns to face him. He swallows hard and scans Phil’s face with his eyes, his teeth digging into his lower lip.

“You look nervous.”

“I am.”

“Don’t be,” Phil tells him, moving closer. “I’ve wanted you for a long time, now. Nothing you do is going to make me reject you.”

“But it’s different online. I’m not… me. Or well, I am, but I’m  _better_. I’m not afraid and I always say the right things there, and I’m so scared you’re going to find out I’m just a shit-scared man with nothing much going for me.”

Phil’s stomach twists. “You’ve got so much going for you.  _S_ o much.”

“See, this is why I’m so scared to get into this with you. Because you’re so smart and hot and you’ve got your life together, you know? And I’m a mess, Phil, a total mess. It all felt easier online, thinking about being with you.”

“You don’t want this?”

Clint laughs, but it’s ugly and bitter and all wrong. “I do. That’s the problem, I want it too much. Looking at you is like looking at the stars, you know? Like looking at a wish you’ve always had, at something that’s so bright it just glows, forever hoping you were closer but knowing you’ll never get there. But I am there, or you’re here, and it’s all just so much to take in.”

Clint looks so scared, so alone with his fingers clenched hard around the neck of his bottle. Phil presses his hand to Clint’s, feels the brittle grip of bone. “Clint, I didn’t meet you tonight expecting something casual or easy. I expected something that feels like it could be the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and that’s exactly what I’ve got. I want to give you the freedom to live without fear, without second-guessing every move you make. Let me take care of you, sweet boy.”

He leans forward, lets his mouth know the beer-tinted taste of Clint’s lips. And it’s so small but it’s world-changing, like everything is shifting further into place with every second.

Phil kisses Clint’s cheeks, the jut of his eyebrow, the bridge of his nose.

“Please don’t let me down,” Clint breathes into the space between them and Phil kisses his forehead.  _I won’t. I couldn’t._

Phil kisses his way down Clint’s face, touches his tongue to the corner of Clint’s mouth.

 _“Daddy_ ,” Clint whines, and it’s like everything in Phil bursts into blue flame. His hands cup Phil’s jaw while his mouth takes and takes and Clint gives, just offers himself up while he whimpers and groans his way into Phil’s kisses. His throat is flexing under Phil’s wrist, lips pressing hard into Phil’s, and it is bruising and clean and everything they need.

“I want to make you mine. Spread you open and strip you back, get you all worked up for me.”

Clint’s whole body jerks and Phil pulls him up by the hand, half-drags him to the bedroom. He undresses himself quickly and leaves Clint to do the same. He stops for a moment once they’re both fully naked, eyes taking in every contour and curve of Clint’s strong body.

“My boy is so beautiful.”

If there’s one thing Phil knows about Clint, it’s that he loves praise. He’ll plead and beg to be told he’s a good boy, that he’s pleasing his Daddy.

Phil won’t make him beg.

Not this time.

He drops to his knees and mouths the head of Clint’s cock, tongue swiping at the pre-cum gathered there. He does tricks he hasn’t bothered with in years, curling and flattening, bringing one hand up to play with the soft skin just below Clint’s ass.

There is a steady stream of “Daddy, please,  _Daddy_ ,” above him as he does it, Clint’s voice going hoarse but never losing volume. Phil grasps Clint’s hand and brings it up to his own hair, letting Clint lead. He pulls back just a little, lets his tongue run up the length of Clint’s dick as he does so.

“Be a good boy and fuck Daddy’s face, okay, sweetheart?”

Clint curses and grips tighter but he does as he’s asked, pistoning his hips in and out until he’s pressing hard at the back of Phil’s throat. Phil hums around him, still stroking with his fingers, feeling the shake of Clint’s thighs.

He moves both his hands to push at Clint’s hips until he falls backward onto the bed. Phil follows, crawling over the broad body of his boy.

“As much as I love sucking your pretty cock, baby boy, I  _love_  being able to talk to you. Tell you how beautiful you are, how much I want to watch you ride me, how I want your hands and lips all over me.”

Clint moans, guttural and gritty. He’s blushing all over, fingers strumming at his own nipples as he shifts restlessly on the bed. “Daddy, I want you.”

“I want you too, but I have to get you nice and wet first.”

Phil rolls Clint over, hands on his perfect ass. He spreads Clint open and sinks down, kissing a wet line down Clint’s spine.

“Daddy, you  _can’t_ , that’s--”

“Daddy told you he was going to, and he meant it.”

And he does. He licks in broad, flat strokes, getting Clint accustomed to the feeling, and then he flicks his tongue inside. He works Clint over for long minutes, teasing the edges of his hole. He scrapes his teeth along the rim, just a little, and Clint makes a noise like he’s dying.

“Good boy. Let me hear you.”

Clint doesn’t hold back. He fucks himself into the mattress, sobs and whines as Phil’s tongue licks across him, darts inside.

When Phil can’t take it anymore, he moves Clint’s limp body back over and climbs on top of him. Both their cocks are sticky with pre-cum now, sliding against one another easily.

“You took that so well, baby boy. I got you all nice and sloppy for me, didn’t I?” Phil slides his hand underneath Clint’s body, gathers some of the wetness lingering between his cheeks. He uses it to fist both their cocks tight, flicking the underside of the head of Clint’s dick with his nail.

“Fuck!”

“Look at you, baby, so good, so sweet. So fucking filthy for your Daddy, sweetness, so dirty for me. You love it, don’t you? Love me making you wet, getting you loose for me. Daddy wants to see you come. Want to watch you make a big mess of yourself, all over that chest of yours. You’re so gorgeous, so  _fucking_  hot, do you know that?”

Clint’s whole body goes rigid as he comes, splattering white all over his stomach and arcing up to his clavicle. His whole body bucks and shakes and Phil is coming, lost in the whimpers of his body and the dig of fingernails into his biceps.

He’s heedless of the mess between them as he collapses onto Clint, kissing him hard. Clint melts underneath him, completely boneless. Phil strokes his boy’s damp hair, whispers words like  _beautiful_  and  _precious_  until Clint’s heart stops racing loud enough to hear.

“Stay,” he says, because he knows Clint, knows that he’s currently debating whether to get dressed or to finally believe that something good is happening to him, just this once.

“I... yeah. Yeah. Please.”

Phil just wraps an arm around his boy’s body, holding him tight. They both fall into an almost-sleep, caressing each other’s skin.

“I think I’m going to fall in love with you,” Clint whispers a while later. He sounds scared, like he’s admitting a weakness or a flaw.

Phil pulls back a little, just enough to push Clint’s hair away from his face and press a single kiss to his nose. “I’m already there.”

Clint’s smile is blinding.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from a tumblr prompt. lots of hugs to CG and Nikki for making it better!

A few weeks later, Phil’s happier than he’s ever been. Being with Clint is like looking at the world through a filter - softened edges, everything easier to handle. Clint is better than anything he could have ever imagined, and the bloom of love between them is nothing less than sweet.

Which is why when it suddenly all goes wrong, Phil doesn’t expect it.

He kisses his way across Clint’s chest and down his stomach, hands reaching inside Clint’s sweatpants.

“Think tonight could be the night?” he asks, mouthing the sharp edge of Clint’s hipbone.

Clint stiffens suddenly before almost pushing Phil off him. He wraps his arms around himself and shifts to sit on the edge of the bed, hunched and small.

It’s so unexpected that for a moment, Phil is frozen before moving carefully forward toward Clint. His hand traverses the hard line of Clint’s back, panic prickling his insides.

“I’m sorry for whatever I did,” he says softly into the silence.

“I’m not ready for _that_ right now, Phil.”

Phil strokes careful fingers across the tense muscles around Clint’s shoulder blades. “That’s okay,” he tells Clint, meaning it. “There’s no rush.”

Except, as the new few weeks pass, it doesn’t seem like Clint thinks it’s okay at all. He grows distant, pulling back from kisses, displaying such uncomfortable body language that Phil doesn’t push for anything remotely intimate. One day Clint texts saying that he’s too busy to come over, and suddenly it’s a whole week since Phil’s seen him and he wonders how he’s managed to ruin everything so fast.

Phil knows he was never going to be enough to hold Clint’s interest, not when he’s balding and boring and Clint shines like the sun, but he’d hoped things would last a little longer before things started to slip through his fingers.

 _Please come over? We need to talk_ , he texts Clint as a last-ditch attempt. Phil doesn’t have much pride at all, but he’ll still swallow it if it means he has any hope of salvaging things between them.

 _B there @ 8_ , Clint texts back - no kisses, none of his usual sweetness coming through, and it’s all Phil can do to not start dressing the grave of their relationship already.

When Phil answers the door that night, he does not expect to see Clint in an outfit that looks like he’s slept in it for a week, with sad eyes rimmed with red and tear-stained cheeks.

“Clint, are you okay?” Phil asks, reaching a hand out without even thinking about it. Clint’s face just _crumples_ and his body’s not far behind, all of him slumping straight into Phil as he shakes in Phil’s arms.

“Hey, shhh, sweet boy, shush now. It’s okay, you’re okay. Everything is okay.”

“Nothing’s okay,” Clint says, voice shuddering and wet.

Phil holds him for long minutes, each tremble of Clint’s body like a tiny shard of glass hitting his skin. Eventually Clint pulls back, fisting his hoodie sleeves in his hands and using them to wipe his eyes.

“Sorry,” Clint says, staring down at the floor. He looks wrecked.

“What’s going on?”

“I just... I got your text, and everyone knows what it means when people say ‘we need to talk’. You’re the only good thing that’s ever happened to me, Phil. I should have known I wouldn’t get to keep you.” Clint bites his lip so hard Phil sees blood pool under the surface.

“I really just meant that we should talk, I promise you. I’m sorry I phrased it poorly.”

Clint nods but doesn’t look up, fiddling with the frayed hems of his cuffs.

“Actually, I asked you here because I didn’t think keeping me was something you were interested in,” Phil says quietly, trying to ignore old ghosts of hurt that refuse to stop haunting him.

“Keeping you is the _only_ thing I’m interested in. It’s everything else that’s fucked up.”

Phil summons enough bravery to slip his hand around Clint’s, something inside him settling with the brush of his boy’s - still his boy, for now - skin against his own.

He pulls Clint over to the couch, letting him choose where to sit and trying not to crowd him. Clint moves closer, though, letting his body rest against Phil’s like he’s tired of always holding it up. Clint takes a deep breath, and it sounds raspy and painful and like he’s fighting for every wisp of air.

“I don’t think I can ever have sex with you.”

Phil stays quiet.

“Do you know that in my whole life, no one has ever looked at me like you do? No one has looked at me and seen something they couldn’t let go of. My own parents, even. So I just thought... why would you? And it’s so terrifying, trying to be what you want me to be, scared that I’ll slip and get it wrong and you’ll be gone. I was always alone until I met you. I should be used to it, but I don’t think I can go back now I know how it feels not to be.” Clint blinks back tears and Phil feels his own eyes sting, because he knows exactly how all of those things feel.

“I don’t want to let you go.”

Clint looks away. “What if I’m not good?”

Phil tilts his head. “You’re always good for me.”

Clint shakes his head, cheeks pink. “No, like... what if I’m not good at something? Something really important? What if I’m bad at it and then you can’t ever look at me the same way again? I don’t... I couldn’t deal with that, Phil.”

It’s like all the dots are connecting, then - Clint pulling away whenever things get too intimate, telling Phil he isn’t ready, telling Phil he doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready.

“It’s impossible for my boy to be bad at anything,” Phil says, stroking the soft, wet skin of Clint’s cheek.

“People have told me I’m bad at it,” Clint whispers, and Phil’s heart aches for him. He knows Clint is desperate for validation, for approval, and it breaks him apart inside to imagine his boy looking for it in all the wrong places.

“Those people weren’t me. They didn’t know you like I do. You’re my sweet, beautiful, amazing boy who I adore, and you could never be anything less than perfect.” He kisses the tip of Clint’s nose.

“I’m not--”

“You have the worst taste in pizza and your love of Katy Perry is not as secret as you think, but other than those things, you _are_ perfect. To me. For me.”

Clint giggles, but he still won’t look Phil in the eye. “Hope you always feel that way.”

“I will.”

“So you’re not done with me? Even though I might suck in bed?” Clint’s voice is light but his expression is anything but, tight with insecurity and the pain of being vulnerable.

“I already have a wide range of experiences that say you resolutely do not suck, Clint Barton.” He leans closer, lets his lips tease the edge of Clint’s ear. “Not unless your Daddy tells you to.”

Clint shivers. “Missed that.”

“I missed _you_ , baby boy. Please promise me that you’ll talk to me in the future before you withdraw like that. I know I make it seem like I have everything figured out but I’m kind of a mess, Clint. I can’t take you blocking me off again. It broke my heart.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Clint says, nuzzling into the hollow of his neck.

“I know you are.” He wraps his arms around Clint’s shoulders, wide and full of burdens. “We’ll work through this, if that’s what you want. We can take things slow and I’ll make you forget anyone else even existed at all.”

“I want that.”

Phil holds him tighter. “We’ll be okay, you know? We can get through anything if we trust each other.”

“I believe in you,” Clint says, hesitating before he speaks again. “When I’m with you, I think maybe I can believe in me, too.”

Phil closes his eyes. “The first time I messaged you, I was the loneliest I’d ever been. I was browsing around online and I saw your pictures and you were gorgeous, _are_ gorgeous, but there was something more. Like something inside me just... clicked, and I had to send you that message so you’d know that somewhere out there, someone wanted you desperately. And then I got to know you, got to love you and hold you and kiss you, and now I want you even more.”

Clint kisses him, hard mouth and soft lips, spine-melting flicks of tongue and soft brushes of contact. Phil knows people joke about seeing stars, but in that moment he sees entire galaxies, all filled with endless possibilities for them to live and love.

Together.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for CG's birthday, because she's awesome and I love her.

Phil lives for the mornings Clint sneaks into his shower.

Hands warmer than the hazy steam of the water caress the skin of his chest, his stomach, secret places below. They tease and taunt and thrill, and Phil doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of the feel of a strong chest against his back.

Then one morning, it doesn’t feel so good anymore.

Clint steps out of the shower stall first, all golden skin and taut muscle, flexing biceps as he towels his body roughly. Phil follows him, picking up his own towel from the rack, but he catches sight of himself in the mirror before he can cover up. His skin is pale and blotchy from the heat, his arms barely defined despite his gym visits, his tummy soft and doughy. His face is flushed pink, wrinkles stemming from the sides of his eyes and around his mouth. He looks back to Clint, at all that beauty before him, and he feels an ache in his chest that he hasn’t for months now.

“Could you dry my hair, Daddy?”

Clint turns to him, towel extended in one fist, body completely uncovered. Phil’s is too, he realizes, and he feels so distinctly uncomfortable it’s all he can do not to hunch. He ignores the towel Clint offers and instead grasps his own, tying it high on his waist and keeping his eyes firmly away from the mirror.

“Have to be at work,” Phil replies, brushing past Clint to get to the door.

Clint’s fingers wrap around Phil’s arm before he can leave. “You don’t have any meetings this morning.”

“I still need to be there, Clint.” Phil bites his lip, because _fuck_. He rarely ever calls Clint by his name when it’s just them, preferring instead to let Clint know he’s Phil’s good boy every chance he gets. He feels Clint’s hands squeeze his wrist tightly.

“Did I upset you?” Clint asks quietly, voice wavering a little. It tugs at Phil’s heart – it seems no matter how often Phil tells Clint he loves him unconditionally, that there will never be anything Clint could do to make that change, Clint’s default assumption is always to think Phil is somehow disappointed with him.

Phil turns then, arms instinctively opening wide for Clint to step into them. He steps into Phil’s embrace and curls there, making himself small, like Phil is a shield he’s trying to hide behind. Phil kisses his damp hair. “Nothing you did, sweet boy.”

Clint’s whole body seems to relax at the endearment.

“Then what is it, Daddy? I don’t like it when you’re upset.”

Of course he doesn’t, because Clint is caring and sweet and everything Phil could never deserve. “Sometimes I think you’re too perfect for an old man like me, honey.”

“What? No. No!” Clint snuggles further into Phil’s chest. “You’re gorgeous.”

Phil snorts. “Yeah, okay.”

“Hey, stop. Of course you are.”

Phil’s eyes are stinging. “I’m really not.”

“You _are_ ,” Clint says. “You’re handsome and you have these amazing eyes and this body that fits against me so well. I can’t keep my hands off you.”

Phil smiles then, because he knows Clint can’t. His boy has sneaky hands that like to roam all over Phil’s body, regardless of time or setting. It’s heady, in a way, to be wanted that much. Phil doesn’t think anyone’s ever wanted him the way Clint seems to, the way Clint does.

“I remember being so scared when I was on my way to meet you that first time.” Clint strokes the dimpled flesh of Phil’s hip. “I had no idea what you looked like or sounded like, but I knew _you._ I knew you were the person I’d always been looking for, the Daddy I’d always needed deep down. I knew you’d take care of me.”

He kisses Phil’s collarbone softly. “And then I saw you and it was like the world dropped out from under my feet, because you were so beautiful standing there, like every dream I’d never let myself have because I knew I’d never get it.”

“You have me, baby.”

“I know.” Clint looks up then, and Phil’s stomach flips when he sees the glimmer of tears in Clint’s eyes. “I have you and I love you, Daddy. I love you so much that it hurts me to think you could ever look at yourself and see anything less than I do.”

Phil swallows. “What do you see?”

“My future.”

Phil doesn’t protest when Clint kisses him, doesn’t argue as that mouth touches less than toned flesh, doesn’t disagree when Clint drops to his knees right there in the middle of the bathroom. He threads his fingers into his boy’s soft hair and ignores the reflection at the edges of his peripheral vision.

Everything he needs is right in front of him.

 


End file.
